


I Have Sought Peace (In the Water, In the Fall)

by DisappointedSpaceDad (ShipThePuppy)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipThePuppy/pseuds/DisappointedSpaceDad
Summary: 18 year old Allura is a trained Girl Scout heading into the woods and meets a curious nymph along the way.***In which Allura is on a journey of self-discovery, Nyma probably has ulterior motives but also thinks Allura is pretty cute, and this gets far more introspective/slightly heartfelt than I intended. My bad.





	I Have Sought Peace (In the Water, In the Fall)

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Jay/heckitty on tumblr for the monstertron exchange! I went with the rarepair request for funzies lol. Hope you like!
> 
> This got a little more introspective and became more of an emotional journey and about the process of grief in a way than I originally intended but once I started I couldn't stop.

The trail is a thin, overgrown thing in front of her. It winds, near invisible, around trees and boulders. If Allura hadn’t had prior knowledge of its existence, she’d have never recognized it for what it is. She pauses in the middle of a dry creek bed, the path continuing on the opposite bank. 

 

“This time of year, the stream’s dried up until the rains hit,” Coran had warned. “So you won’t have a water source until you reach the waterfall, but on the bright side, the weather’s perfect for backpacking right now! Nice and cool in the mornings, and just warm enough during the day.”

 

Allura slips her glasses off. She could have brought her contact lenses, but she feels safer with the sturdy, heavy frames. And it saves space in her bag not having to carry the contact solution or case. She tugs the hem of her beige shirt and wipes the lenses free of smudges. She takes a moment to put them back on, and adjust the green-edged navy blue triangle scarf tied around the top of her head and tighten her braid before continuing on. Emblazoned on the back of the scarf and her shirt sleeves, the words ‘Girl Scouts’ is embroidered in bright green.

 

* * *

 

_ Allura grows up a Girl Scout, just as her mother before her. Sashes hang on the back of her closet door, the patches of several years stitched across each. Her mother’s neat handiwork mark the first few, until Allura takes over sewing on her own patches when she hits Junior.   _

 

__ _ “When you’re older,” her mother says, “I’ll take you to my favorite spot in Pink Stream Gorge. It’s a two day hike out there and the path is unmarked on most maps, so it’s a little tougher than our usual camping trips.” _

 

__ _ Allura agrees.  _

 

* * *

 

She makes camp at a large boulder. There’s a hook at the top, an almost unnatural crescent she can’t resist climbing up and sitting in once she’s finished setting up camp. She sits with her back against the curve. She turns on her phone, the only piece of tech she’d brought with her, and snaps a picture of the view.

 

And  _ jolts _ . 

 

A woman is in the picture. Looking up at her from just outside her campsite. She’s like no one Allura’s ever seen. Pale yellow skin, forearms that are slightly thicker than the upper, hair the same shade as her skin pulled up into four heavy ponytails. She’s tall, with large  _ purple _ eyes, an elegant face that’s colored a pure white that spreads down to her long neck. She’s dressed in blues, her top cut short and navel showing, silver bands circling her arms at various points. She’s beautiful. And utterly inhuman.

 

“Who’s there?” Allura calls, setting her phone aside. The back of her neck prickles. She scans where she saw the woman in the picture, but finds no one there. She leans forward, trying to see better.

 

From right next to her, a voice says, “You’re a jittery one, aren’t ya?”

 

Allura jumps, mouth half-open in a scream that gets abruptly cut off as she tumbles to the ground ten feet below.

 

“Oh!”

 

Allura whimpers. Her wrist throbs. She tries to raise herself on her palms, and crumples back down the moment she puts any pressure on it. A breath hisses through her teeth. There’s a sound of something hitting the dirt near her, but there’s nothing there.

 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you so much. Just a second.”

 

Allura blinks, and a woman shimmers into view. She’s just as inhuman and strangely gorgeous as she is in the picture, and also undeniably real.

 

“I always forget that your technology can pick us up in pictures.” The woman kneels at her side. “Are you hurt?”

 

Allura looks up at her, half-believing she’s dreaming, as the woman gently helps her sit up with thick three-fingered hands. “What are you?”

 

“A nymph.” The woman smiles, her lips pink and teeth bright. “My name is Nyma.”

 

* * *

 

_ Allura is never as close to her mother as she is her father. Alfor is roguish, charismatic, the mayor of their small town with aspirations of grander pursuits. Mallora is quiet in comparison, cautious, a gentler sort of playful. Allura takes after Alfor in all the more obvious ways, and it makes her cling to him and aspire to follow in his footsteps, to spread a message of peace as he does.  _

 

__ _ Alfor teaches Allura how to be a leader, about justice. Mallora teaches her tranquility, and the strength behind it. Only when she’s older does Allura realize that it was from Mallora that Alfor’s message of peace sprang, and he’d believed in it, in her, so much that it became the driving force behind his actions. Allura wants, fiercely, to learn it from her as well. _

 

__ _ By then, it’s too late. She’s already lost them both. _

 

* * *

 

Allura stares across the campfire at the nymph currently taking delight in a cup of instant hot chocolate, happily crunching the mini-marshmallows with an almost innocent joy. Allura’s own cup is cradled in her palms. A blanket is wrapped around her shoulders. 

 

After seeing the state of Allura’s wrist, Nyma insisted on escorting her the rest of her journey to the waterfall--where Nyma claimed she’d be able to heal it. Allura still isn’t sure this is all real.

 

“Nyma,” Allura begins, voice slow, “I apologize if I seem rude, but I’m still sort of...reeling from this. You’re a nymph? Do--do  _ other _ supernatural beings exist?”

 

The ridge where a brow would be lifts on Nyma’s face. “Some of them. Others were made up by humans. Or us. Who says ‘myths’ can’t have their own myths?”

 

“Like?”

 

“Hmm.” Nyma swirls her hot chocolate. “Bigfoot, for instance. Total myth. Mothman too, though I’m pretty sure that one was started because of my friend Rolo. Stands on bridges too much for his own good. I actually don’t know if the Loch Ness Monster is a thing or not. There are fae of course, but there are just too many types to name off the top of my head. Besides, they tend to stick to Europe.”

 

When Allura doesn’t respond, Nyma sets aside her drink and focuses on her. “You aren’t about to freak out, are you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Allura answers honestly. She takes off her glasses and fiddles with them, twirling an arm between her fingers. “I might. This is a lot to take in.”

 

“You’re taking it surprisingly well!” Nyma grins, resting her elbows on her knees to cradle her face. “I haven’t tried talking to someone like this in decades. You’re reacting much better than he did.”

 

Perhaps because I’m still in shock, Allura thought. “Why is that?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Why talk to me at all?”

 

Nyma stares at her for a long moment. At first Allura shivers, then blushes as those startling purple eyes rove down her form and back up to her face. There’s something calculating about the look, as well as something heated.

 

“You’re cute,” she finally answers.

 

Allura doesn’t entirely believe her.

 

* * *

 

_ Uncle Coran moves in. He tells a lot of stories. About himself, at first, but as the sharp edges of rage on her grief fade, he starts telling others. About Alfor. Mallora. The husband he’d buried before Allura was ever born.  _

 

_ It’s not the peace she wants, but it’s close. _

 

* * *

 

It takes a little longer to reach the waterfall than Allura’d planned. Her sprained wrist swells beneath the wrapping, and makes climbing and traversing steep sections of the path more treacherous. Nyma helps.

 

The nymph is flighty. She disappears for several minutes and reappears just as quickly, with various items that she gifts Allura. Stones from the creek beds, worn smooth and shiny by time. Sweet, slightly tart berries Allura recognizes as being safe to eat. Wildflowers she makes a game of slipping into Allura’s braid to see how long it takes her to notice. 

 

And she talks. Sporadically, seemingly from nowhere, before abruptly falling silent. Most of their conversation is Nyma asking questions and telling stories of the other creatures of Pink Stream Gorge. Mostly dryads, a few other nymphs like her. 

 

“Where are they?” Allura asks.

 

Nyma runs a hand along the trunk of a tree as they pass. “Sleeping.”

 

Allura doesn’t question further, and Nyma continues her story.

 

They reach the waterfall close to sunset. The area around the pool is clear of trees, allowing the fading sunlight to pass through and glitter on the spray in bursts of garnet and citrine. The fall itself is only five feet wide at most, and several inches thick. It falls freely from a thick rocky shelf thirty feet overhead. The shelf creates a shaded overhang full of mossy boulders and cool stone. It lacks the deafening roar and energy of a larger waterfall, but there’s a tranquility to it that’s soothing. 

 

Nyma helps her set up camp before clapping her hands. “Now, let’s see to that wrist.”

 

She takes Allura’s uninjured hand in her palms, and leads her to the waterfall. They come to stand behind it, just under the overhang. The waterfall hits a shallow basin eroded into the rock by time, and flows into the pool. It splashes on their bare feet, cool on Allura’s skin. The light filtering through the water bends across Nyma’s skin like an ever-changing pattern of stained glass. It steals Allura’s breath.

 

Nyma carefully unwraps the bandages. They fall aside, a pile on the ground. She cradles Allura’s injured wrist, and turns them to guide their hands into the fall. The water pressure hurts, at first. Then, Nyma’s fingers trail across the bruising flesh, and warmth follows the touch. It seeps through swollen muscle and sinks into the bone. 

 

When Nyma pulls their hands from the water, Allura’s wrist is healed, dripping shining droplets like tumbled stones. 

 

“Thank you,” Allura murmurs, and notes how cool and soft Nyma’s hands are. Nyma says nothing, but she’s staring at Allura again, the same way she did the night before.

 

Allura draws Nyma back to camp. She makes a pot of instant noodles over the fire, and adds some dried meat and vegetables to lend some flavor to the broth. She offers some to Nyma, who slurps the noodles too quick and smacks herself in the cheek with them. 

 

When she heads to sleep, Allura bids Nyma goodnight. After a few minutes, she hears a splash from the pool. The next morning, Nyma is gone.

 

“Nyma?” Allura calls, but there’s no reply. Her shoulders slump. 

 

For the next hour, Allura goes about doing camp chores methodically. She collects water for the gravity filter, and hangs it from a branch. The fire comes to life with a little prodding, and in a few minutes she has water hot enough for oatmeal. She takes it with her as she carefully climbs the incline up to the shelf, and settles with her legs dangling over the edge next to the waterfall. 

 

The world feels soft, here. Allura sets her finished meal aside and sits back. The sun warms her face. The sound of water below and the forest around could almost put her to sleep. She has to leave soon. Pack up her things and head back the way she came. Back home. To Coran, and her friends.

 

Allura’s fingers slip into the water. She wonders, in a flash, if this is where her mother’s peace began.

 

“Found you,” Allura whispers.

 

* * *

 

_ She’s searching through her mother’s old Girl Scout things when she finds it. A shoebox, layered in dust. She pops it open, and finds an old map of Pink Stream Gorge, a trail she’s never seen before drawn on in faded pink. A handful of polaroids rest at the bottom.  _

 

__ _ She sees a creek bed. A massive boulder, with a hook at the top perfect to sit in. Sunlight dappling through a forest canopy. A small waterfall dropping from a high shelf into a wide pool. Mallora, around 18 like Allura, in an old Girl Scout uniform with her legs dangling over the shelf sitting at the top of the waterfall.  _

 

__ _ All at once, Allura remembers her mother’s promise. She starts making plans that same evening. _

 

* * *

 

“Allura.”

 

Allura glances to her right. She’d heard Nyma’s footsteps coming. That was probably on purpose on Nyma’s end, given the last time she’d snuck up on Allura hadn’t ended well. Nyma’s standing a few feet away, her hands clasped tightly to hide something in her palms.

 

Allura stands. “I didn’t know if you were coming back. You didn’t say goodbye.” She pauses. “You should always say goodbye.”

 

“Sorry,” Nyma says. “I had to think.”

 

Allura nods, forgiving her easily. “Is that another gift?”

 

Nyma shuffles. “In a way.” She comes closer, and bids Allura to hold out her hands. She drops something in her palms.

 

It’s a stone. Deep, beautiful blue, with starbursts of gold. A small hole is worn through the center. It’s cold, and water drips from its surface in a near-constant flow. 

 

“This is my Source,” Nyma says. “Once I take it out of the water, I lose my physical form in a matter of hours. I won’t reform until it’s been placed back in a pool big enough to hold my body. I can never be very far from it.”

 

Allura looks at it reverently. “Why are you showing me this?”

 

“Because,” she answers, “I want you to take me with you.”

 

Allura steps closer. “Why me?”

 

Nyma lifts a hand to cradle Allura’s cheek. “There’s nothing here for me anymore.” She presses a kiss to Allura’s forehead. “And I like you.”

 

Allura blushes, and lets herself lean into Nyma. As her face presses to Nyma’s clavicle, her glasses dig into her temple, and no doubt they’ll be smudged when this is over, but she doesn’t mind. Standing on tip-toe, Allura places a soft peck to Nyma’s cheek.

 

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Days later, Allura stands in her backyard. She’s already tried the bathtub, but it must have been too small. Now, she sets aside the hose after filling the longest inflatable pool she could find. She picks up the stone, and drops it near the center.

 

The Source glows. Light begins to take shape in the water, growing more solid as the seconds pass. Soon, Nyma’s eyes open. She sits up, and upon seeing Allura, smiles.

 

“It’s not ideal,” she says, tapping the side of the pool, “but it’ll do.”


End file.
